


The 4th Annual Terrigen Relief Foundation Gala

by SapphyWatchesYouSleep (Sapphy)



Category: Batman (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Batfamily Feels, Best Friends, Bruce just wants to be a good father, Character(s) of Color, Cross-Generational Friendship, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Curtain Fic, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Gotham in the 616, M/M, Multi, Muslim Character, Polyamory, Race bent Batfamily, Slice of Life, Team as Family, Tony just wants to be a good Uncle, they're trying their best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/SapphyWatchesYouSleep
Summary: Held in Gotham's famous Grand Hotel, the Gala promised to be a star-studded event. Highlights will include an auction, with celebrity guest auctioneer, Iron-Man himself, Tony Stark. Items on offer include priceless antiques, the chance to have your portrait painted by world-renowned artist Chuck Close, or a date with Gotham City's most eligible bachelor, Dick Grayson! Tickets are on sale now.Tony heads to Gotham to spent a weekend with his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing for years with the idea of picking Gotham up and dropping it into Marvel, just to see what would happen. It's something I feel works well compared to most kinds of Mavel/DC fusions, because Gotham is so clearly it's own little pocket dimension, and it's ties to the rest of the DCU are mostly pretty easily severed. Many epic stories have been started, and none finished. But the idea I kept coming back to was that of Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark as childhood best friends, and how that would and wouldn't change both of them as people. So this is my not-so-little slice of life exploration of that relationship, and how it affects Bruce's kids.
> 
> I've also been playing for a long time with the idea of race-bending the Batfamily, and this seemed like the perfect chance to combine the two. So for quick reference, Bruce is mixed white/African American, though he looks more like his mom than his dad, Dick is Roma (he varies between being half and one quarter Roma in the comics), Jason's mom was white and he never met his dad but he's pretty sure he was black, Cass remains mixed Korean/white, Tim is half Pakistani and a practising Muslim (his dad is white), Steph is Black and Damian remains mixed white/Arabic. The papers naturally handle this about as well as they ever did reporting on Angelina Jolie's children.
> 
> The Marvel this takes place in is a comics fusion world, meaning I'm taking bits of my favourite storylines and timelines and smashing them together in the hope of creating something a little more coherent than the actual 616. The exception to this is Tony himself, who is very much movie-verse Tony, because frankly, he's what they were always trying to go for with comics Tony and never quite hit the mark. Also I didn't want him to be a super-villain, and that's been comics Tony's default for a long-ass time now. Probably since around the time he started thinking it was okay to all his secret science organisation 'the Illuminati'.
> 
> In terms of key events, we're about 5 years past Civil War & the death of Jason Todd, the Terrigen bomb got dropped around the same time (rather than half a decade later), and 4 years past No-Man's Land. Dick is Nightwing, Tim is still regular colour Robin. Cass is Batgirl, Steph is Spoiler, Damian is staying home at night because you're eleven Damian, and I'm your father and I said so, okay?! Steve is back as Cap, Spidey, Dick and the other members of this Universe's Teen Titans have finally admitted they're too old for the Teen bit, the Young Avengers are going strong with Tim as a member, and Dazzler is field leader of the Birds of Prey.
> 
> Feel free to ask any questions you like in the comments about this Universe!
> 
> Warnings: obviously mentions of Bruce having lost his parents, mentions of both Tony and Tim having fairly crap parents. Mentions of violence within a romantic relationship which neither party recognises as being violent (specifically brought up in the form of an intervention, since I really hate the trope of young male characters getting hit by their loved ones when they do something stupid, it's fucked up). Mentions of the death of Jason Todd. Mentions of Bruce generally being a bit fucked up. Mentions of Batman/Joker. All non-explicit, all the characters are in a supportive and loving environment when the mentions occur. This is not a hard-hitting or in any way dark fic. Feel free to message me on Tumblr if you want more details before you read this, I'm sapphywatchesyousleep.
> 
> And finally, as always; don't like, don't read.

The drive from New York to Gotham takes two hours if one obeys the speed limit all the way. It takes Tony just over an hour and fifteen, and it feels like entering another world every single time.

 

If he were ever to say as much to Bruce, he'd get that glint in his eye that means  'my city is crazier than yours will ever be, and you'd die in half an hour if you tried to operate here', because sometimes Bruce is an asshole.

 

He wasn't when they were kids, and he can still sometimes go hours at a time without doing anything that makes Tony want to punch him. And then he puts on the cowl and Tony starts thinking longingly of his gauntlets.

 

It's almost certainly something to do with the fact that he lives in a house that Strange, Doc Voodoo, and, oddly, Ben Grimm, have all told Tony is the most haunted place they've ever been.

 

Tony thinks about the awkward, kind, endlessly hopeful boy he'd known, the one who smiled with his mouth and didn't show any signs of wanting to collect cute orphans like they were trading cards, and makes a mental note to ask Strange to check the man for possession next time they're on a mission together.

 

He taps the button on the console that will connect him to the Cave. (He has the Batman on speed dial, sometimes his life is pretty awesome).

 

There's a brief tiny crackle of static, and Bruce's voice. "Tony." He sounds out of breath and extremely pleased about something which, wow, that's a disturbing mental image.

 

"Brucie, didn't interrupt anything good did I?"

 

"Dick is here. We were comparing notes on new techniques."

 

Which... isn't actually making Tony's mental images any less disturbing, although they are prettier. Dick Grayson is one of the most ridiculously handsome men Tony has ever met, and he hangs out with literal gods.

 

"Well don't do anything I wouldn't do. And tell him that threesome is still available if he wants it."

 

Bruce's silence takes on the quality Tony knows means Bruce is glaring, specifically the glare that means  'get your filthy lecherous hands off my son'. It's a glare he knows well, but in his defense, it's Dick. Tony once watched an honest to God blind nun flirt with him. He's just that pretty.

 

(Tony once walked in on Dick and Noh-Varr working out together. Topless. He'd had to go and spend an hour with his head buried between Pepper's thighs to remind himself that he's actually mostly straight.)

 

"Tell you what big guy," Tony says, "when Dick stops hitting on my girlfriend, I'll stop hitting on him. Until then, he's fair game."

 

Bruce makes a small noise that is absolutely the verbal equivalent of an embarrassed blush and asks, "did you remember BB14?"

 

Tony shudders. "Yes, I remembered Timmy's cannibalistic psychopath of a robot. And you can tell him, the next time he gives me something designed to eat my tech, I’m going tell the Bugle he’s Spider-Man.”

 

“Ooooh, someone’s feeling mean,” a delighted voice says.

 

“Your little brother sent the tech equivalent of a swarm of locusts into my workshop,” Tony tells Dick. “I had to use an EMP. An EMP. In my workshop.”

 

“Ouch. I’m sure he didn’t… he probably didn’t mean to.”

 

“Probably,” Tony agrees grimly. He likes Bruce’s third son most of the time, but he’d be the first admit the kid is well on his way to full mustache twirling supervillain-dom.

 

“What time are you gonna be here?” Dick asks.

 

Tony checks the clock on the dash. “Around four, I think.”

 

“Damn, in time for afternoon tea, and just in time to miss me. My shift starts at six.”

 

“You still haven’t quit the police?”

 

He can hear Dick bristling. “Why should I?”

 

“Dick, you know I’m all for you doing anything that’ll piss off Bruce, but there aren’t enough hours in the day. When did you last sleep?!”

 

“I got a couple of hours last night.”

 

“I mean real sleep. Not all of us can survive on cat-naps like Bruce.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. It was this week. Pretty sure it was this week. What day is it today?”

 

“Right, that’s it, I’m calling the Titans and getting them to stage an intervention. Maybe Spider-Man will be able to make you actually stay in bed.”

 

Dick laughs. “Not these days, him and his girlfriend are depressingly monogamous.”

 

“I meant with his webbing! Honestly, Dick, get your mind out of the gutter!”

 

“I’m a Titan, and I choose to call myself Dick,” Dick points out, and Tony can hear the grin in his voice. “I really don’t know what you were expecting.”

 

“I was expecting Bruce to have taught you some manners!”

 

“Oh he did his best, but the lessons never really stuck. Probably because of all the concussions.”

 

Tony chuckles. “Well if you’re losing your memory already, I got no chance. So remind a forgetful old man, who is at the manor these days?”

 

“Dami’s here of course. Tim's working out of the cave again, and he's going to the Gala anyway. Cass is in and out, but Steph’s generally here in the evenings. She says she only comes over for Alfred’s cooking, but I know she loves us really.”

 

“She loves Tim,” Tony counters because from what he's heard, the two of them are sickeningly adorable together. “I wouldn’t count on her being all that fond of the rest of you.”

 

“Nonsense,” Dick says airily. “We’re extremely lovable, right Bruce?”

 

Bruce makes a slight non-committal noise, which almost certainly means he’s laughing his head off on the inside where no one can see it. One day Tony will find out who it was who taught Bruce he wasn’t allowed to laugh anymore, and then he’s going to introduce them to Cap, and maybe Hawkeye, and sit back and watch the carnage. People only think they know how humiliating getting a dressing down from Cap will be; the reality is always so much worse. And Hawkeye is very good at hitting people in places where the bruises won’t show because his life has been all kinds of fucked up.

 

“Bruce agrees,” Dick says smugly. “Anyway, I better get going. I gotta get back to the Haven in time to wash up and try and make myself look like a normal person who police officers definitely shouldn’t be suspicious of before my shift, and that’s gonna take some serious work.”

 

“It’d be easier if you got some sleep occasionally,” Tony points out, admittedly hypocritically, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Bruce almost never managed a full night’s sleep even when they were kids, and the paranoia that comes with being Batman has only exacerbated his insomnia. His kids all seem to think being constantly sleep-deprived is a normal part of the vigilante life. Except for Tim, who was rocking the dark circles and dream logic long before Bruce adopted him.

 

Tony remembers Tim as a child because the number of children under ten he actually meets (at least the ones not wearing Iron Man tee shirts) is close to zero. But Bruce had started something of a trend for taking your kids along to charity galas, because Dick didn’t like being left at home. The kids generally amused themselves, under the watchful eye of whatever society matrons were playing chaperone. Tim is the only one of them to have ever marched up and introduced himself to Tony, and definitely the only one to follow that up by asking startlingly intelligent questions about robotics.

 

He hadn’t seen him often, but he’d kept half an eye on the boy. He'd done what he could to encourage the Drakes to let their son study the science and math he was clearly born for. It had actually been something of a relief when Bruce adopted the kid. Tony had been starting to worry he’d have to do it himself, and he really wasn't cut out to be a dad.

 

“Sleep is for the weak,” Dick says. “Sorry to miss you tonight, but I’ll see you on Sunday at the Terrigen relief gala, right?”

 

“That’s the plan.”

 

“Great, I’ll see you then. Bye, Uncle Tony.”

 

There’s the click of Dick disconnecting from the secure line, and Tony says, “I swear he only calls me that to make me feel like a creep for flirting with him.”

 

Bruce hums. “Possibly. Most people would take that as a sign that they should stop.”

 

“Yes, but then he’d win,” Tony says, and listens to Bruce trying to pretend he’s not grinning. “I’ve missed you, Brucie, and your mad children. This weekend is gonna be awesome.”

 

“Damian offered Stephanie three to one odds on your being killed before the gala.”

 

“Damian is a goddamn pessimist. You really need to send him up to the tower more often, Cap and Janet would sort that right out.”

 

“I dread to think what the two of them could mold Damian to be,” Bruce says faintly.

 

“He’d be the most upbeat Superhero since that Jubilee kid the X-Men have running around with them.”

 

“I count myself lucky then that Damian is not especially malleable. Dick and Stephie provide as much upbeat as I am capable of dealing with.”

 

“When did that wide-eyed little boy I used to know turn into a grumpy old man?” Tony asks, rhetorically. He knows when. When the nightmares didn’t stop, and the city refused to be saved, and punching people in the face kept not fixing anything.

 

“I’ll see you in half an hour, Tony,” Bruce says, and his voice suggests he knows exactly what Tony’s thinking. “Batman out.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alfred opens the door on the first knock, just like he always does. Tony is starting to suspect he can teleport, because there’s no way he always just happens to be in the hallway when a car pulls up, and he can’t have the entire mansion under surveillance. Tony considers that thought in light of whose mansion this is and how many bugs per square inch there’s likely to be anywhere Oracle, Robin and Batman spend significant amounts of time. He probably can’t have the whole manor under surveillance.   
“Hello, Master Anthony. It is good to see you again. I trust you are well?”

  
“I’m great thanks, Alfie. Good to see you too. How’ve you been keeping?”   


“Oh, mustn’t grumble, Master Anthony, mustn’t grumble.”   


Tony has known Alfred since he was eleven, so he knows that what that really means is that he’s too loyal to complain.   


“Damian driving everyone up the wall still?”   


“It has been a difficult transition for Master Damian. He is still getting used to the way we do things here.”   


Which is probably Alfred speak for ‘he’s an absolute little shit and I fantasize about strangling him’, but Tony doesn’t press.   


“Master Bruce is still in the cave, at present. Would you like me to fetch him?”   


“No need, I’ll go down. I need to leave the suit somewhere safe anyway.”   


“Very well. Shall I bring tea down, or will you come up for it?”   


“We’ll come up. Bruce spends too much time in that place as it is.”   


“I couldn’t agree more, Master Anthony. Very well, I shall serve it in the sun parlor in twenty minutes. Master Bruce could use the vitamin D.”   


Tony laughs and claps Alfred on the shoulder before heading to the lift.   


He knows a lot of people find Alfred unnerving, but to Tony, he’s always had the comfort of the familiar. He and Jarvis were cut from the same cloth, and the ridiculous old-world English butler persona just reminds Tony of the man who helped to raise him.   


Bruce is at the computer when Tony steps into the cave, or rather, Batman is. Tony has never been sure what it is that’s so immediately noticeable about the change from Bruce  to Batman, but he learnt years ago to spot which one he was talking to, regardless of whether the cowl was on or off.   


“Alfred says tea in twenty,” Tony says by way of greeting. “Have you redecorated in here? Whatever you’ve done with the place, you’ve really brought out the mouldering darkness.”   


“Hello, Tony.”   


“Hi yourself, Bats. What happened? You weren’t Batmanning at me over the phone earlier."   


Batman blinks at him, takes a shallow breath, and relaxes into Bruce. “I got caught up in the Work.”   


“It’s still weird that you capitalise that. But it’s good to see you, bro. How many kids have you got around the place today?"   


"Just Damian, I believe, but Cassandra will be joining us for tea when she returned from her ballet class. And of course, Dick and Tim will be coming to the gala tomorrow.”   


“Shouldn’t Tim be off with his baby Avengers? It is the weekend.”   


“He is, but he’s coming back early. I believe the young female Hawkeye is going to be attending as well.”   


“Just call her Kate, Bruce.”   


“I have never spoken to her. She has not given me permission to use her name.”   


Bruce’s ideas about politeness are bizarre but deeply important to him. Tony isn’t sure how he can have the girl under what is probably pretty intense surveillance, given that she hangs out with his son, and yet also feel it would be too forward to use her given name in conversation. “You’re a weird guy, Brucie.”   


“So you’ve been telling me since we were children.”   


“Good thing I like weird then, or I’d never have stuck around,” Tony says, and gives Bruce a careful ‘look I’m joking, joking is a thing we are allowed to do with each other’ smile. Bruce can be pretty fun, in a Gothic sort of way, but you have to give him time to remember that he’s allowed to be.   


He plays with his kids some, Tony has been privileged to witness the joy he and Dick take in sparring, the carefully constructed whimsy he shares with Tim, and once, Bruce teaching Cassandra to Waltz. But he’s still their parent, and there’s always a degree of tension there as he tries desperately to be worthy of them. Tony is pretty sure he’s the only person Bruce has let his hair down with in at least a decade.   


He really needs to work on getting Bruce to make friends with more of the Avengers.   


“Have you spoken to the Widow lately?” he asks. She and Bruce have a strange relationship which looks to an outsider like two cats eyeing each other across a large room to see which of them will flinch first, but which Tony knows is actually a friendship they both treasure. She sends him horrible cheesy postcards when she goes away on missions, and Bruce feeds her information about her teammates that she couldn’t easily get for herself. Tony’s never sure if he should be encouraging them, or trying to make them find friends who share less of their neurosis.   


“She is undercover in the Ukraine,” Bruce says, and points to a vividly coloured postcard stuck to one of the monitors. “She will be done in the next few weeks. I’m going to ask her to train with Cass when she gets back.”   


“Oh good, that’s what we need, more terrifying super-spies.”   


Bruce tilts his head slightly to make sure there’s enough light on his face that Tony can see his raised eyebrow, and Tony sighs. “Alright, yes, she’s already a terrifying super-spy, but I guarantee Natasha will make her more terrifying. Natasha makes everyone she trains more terrifying.”   


“She trained Dick.”   


“And I have watched Dick laugh and make bad skeleton puns while he systematically broke all of a perps ribs when he needed information. Just because I like your kids doesn’t mean they aren’t all terrifying. Come on, tea time.”   


Tony starts to walk towards the stairs, but after a few paces, he realises Bruce isn’t following. When he turns back, Bruce has does that thing where he wraps himself up in shadow so you can’t see what he’s thinking, but Tony has known him long enough to guess. “You haven’t fucked up with them, Bruce. That’s not what I was saying.”   


Bruce’s shoulders shift slightly, and he says quietly, “It’s only that Dick was so gentle when he arrived. He would spend summer afternoons following Alfred around the garden moving any small creatures he found out of the way of the secateurs. The first time he saw someone seriously injured on the street, he wept. The little boy he was would never have hurt anyone, and now…”   


“The little boy he was would have fought the whole world to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves, with just his fists and teeth. Just like the boy you were. I’m sure Dick would have turned out different if someone else had raised him, and I’m not saying you never fucked up with him, you know you did, but you didn’t break him, or corrupt him.”   


“How can you know?”   


“Because he’s still the same gentle little boy he was a decade ago. He’s just got more ways of protecting the helpless now than lifting frogs out the flower beds.”   
Bruce’s shoulders slump, and he moves enough that a little light can start to illuminate his face. “Thank you.”   


“I’m just telling it like it is, Brucie. Come on, Alfie’ll have my guts if you don’t show up for tea.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sun room is not a large space, but it’s a very beautiful one. It’s filled with plants, and the sunlight streaming in through the glass roof gives the room a comforting scent of sun-warmed soil and greenery.   


 

Tea has been set out on a low coffee table, and Tony sinks into a rattan chair with a pleased sigh. This is one of his favorite rooms in the manor (and as children, he and Bruce had explored every one) because it’s one of the few rooms that doesn’t feel haunted by the ghosts of generations of long-dead Waynes. In this room, he can forget he’s in a nightmare house in Terrigen City, and just focus on enjoying spending time with the man who is, despite everything, still his best friend.   


 

The tea is Darjeeling because Alfred knows Tony prefers Indian to China tea. (Alfred is one of the few people in the world who is allowed to know that Tony actually does like tea, rather than only the coffee that probably makes up about 40% of his bloodstream at this point). The cups are the same ones they’ve always been for his visits, the best set that had been a wedding gift to Bruce’s mother, because Alfred had been so pleased by Bruce making a friend that even a scruffy anti-social thirteen-year-old with no manners  had been considered a celebration worthy of the heirloom china.   


 

There’s a tiered cake stand on the table, with the traditional sandwiches, scones and cakes arranged attractively on it. Tony knows that the sandwiches will be cucumber (for Bruce) and roast beef (for him), that the scones will have clotted cream rather than the butter Bruce prefers because Tony likes cream, and that at least one of the cakes will be  lemon with a hint of lavender.   


 

He takes one of the beef sandwiches and smiles to himself as Bruce pours the tea. He might hate Wayne manor to its very foundations, but this, afternoon tea in the sunshine with his oldest friend, always feels a little like coming home.   


 

He takes his tea (one sugar and a squeeze of lemon) and watches Bruce study the sandwiches like he thinks they might be poisoned.   


 

“Just take the cucumber ones, Bruce,” Tony tells him at last. “I’m not going to eat them, and I already know you’re a spoiled rich kid with ridiculously refined tastes, so I’m only going to mock you a little.”   


 

“They were mother’s favorites,” Bruce says, picking up a sandwich and tiny a tiny bite. “I believe she enjoyed what she saw as the essential dichotomy of her race and such traditionally upper-class food.”   


 

Tony smiles. It’s always a good sign when Bruce talks about his parents, but especially his mother. Sometimes Tony feels that the few tiny snippets of information Bruce is prepared to part with let him see the person Bruce might have been, had his life involved less tragedy. It’s a bittersweet feeling to be able to see the happiness Bruce might have been capable of, and to know that if he hadn’t lost that, Tony would probably have graduated high school without a single friend.   


 

“Tell me about the kids,” he says when they’ve both finished their first sandwich. “Any progress with Tim’s dad?”   


 

Bruce sighs. “He still has not noticed there is anything out of the ordinary with Tim’s behavior. He has failed to ask about a single one of his injuries since you were last here, and he still hasn’t noticed that Tim gets up in the mornings to pray.”   


 

Tony winces a little. He knows what it’s like to have parents who don’t pay attention to you, but there’s a big difference between “don’t ask about your day at school” and “haven’t noticed you’re a Muslim vigilante who nearly dies on a weekly basis and fasts for a month a year”. “That’s hard.”   


 

“He will not admit that it upsets him, and I don’t know how to get him to open up about it. Even Dick hasn’t managed to have a substantial conversation with him about his parents.”   


 

“And if he’s saying no to Dick…” Tony finishes. Despite having been brothers for several years now, Tim still views Dick with a sort of desperate adoration and would do almost anything to please him. “You seriously need to get him to move out.”   


 

“Drake’s insistence on respecting his parents wishes as much as he is able while also obeying father is one of the few admirable things about him,” a young voice says behind them, and they turn to see Bruce’s youngest son Damian regarding them with a critical air.   


 

“Ahlan, wa ibni. Will you join us?”   


 

“You do not need to speak Arabic to me, father. My English is perfectly good.”   


 

“I know it is, but I am not so proficient that I will turn down the chance to practice my Arabic.”   


 

“If that were truly your motivation, you would address me entirely in Arabic, not switch to English.”   


 

“That would be rude since your Uncle Tony does not speak Arabic.”   


 

Damian flounces around the rattan love seat and glares at Tony as he sits. “He is not my Uncle. He shares no blood connection to anyone in this house.”   


 

“No,” Bruce agrees calmly, “But he has been the brother of my heart since I was only a little older than you.”   


 

Damian’s scowl intensifies, and Bruce sighs. “You need not always be so grumpy, my son.”   


 

“I am not grumpy!”   


 

“Yes,” Cass says, appearing behind the sofa apparently from nowhere and climbing over it to sit beside her brother.   


 

“Yes what, Cain? You were not asked a question!”   


 

“Yes grumpy,” Cass says and grins at Tony. She doesn’t offer any greeting beyond her smile, but Tony doesn’t expect one.   


 

“Hey, Cass. How are the dance lessons going?”   


 

Cass smiles even wider, and presses a closed fist to her chest, spreading her fingers and gesturing as though to indicate flight.

 

“That good huh? I’m pleased.”   


 

Cass nods serenely and points a questioning finger at the cake stand.   


 

“Beef and mustard sandwiches, cucumber sandwiches, scones with jam, and a selection of cakes,” Bruce tells her. “The cake the color of Dick’s skin after he has been sunbathing has coffee in it.”   


 

Cass pulls a face and takes one of the scones. The right to have likes and dislikes is still an exciting novelty to her, and she's going through the kind of fussing eating phase most people get out of the way when they're toddlers. Tony knows the family are watching her closely for any signs of an eating disorder, but so far it seems to be only an entirely healthy desire to express preferences and have them respected.   


 

“Tea?” Bruce offers, and Damian accepts while Cass shakes her head vehemently.   


 

“You want something else, Cass?” Tony asks. “I can get you some water or juice or something?”   


 

Cass shakes her head with a smile, and Tony shrugs and helps himself to another sandwich.   


 

“So have you guys picked a team yet?” Tony asks.   


 

“I do not require a team, Stark,” Damian grits out, as Cass shakes her head.   


 

“Well that’s no good, you gotta have a team. It’s important that you make friends who aren’t related to you.”   


 

“I do not require friends, either.”   


 

“Well aren't’ you a little ball of sunshine. What about you, Cass? You want a team?”   


 

Cass waves her hand palm down, in the universal gesture of ‘could go either way’, and points to her mouth.   


 

“You do not have to be able to speak in words in order to form friendships,” Bruce tells her. “You bonded with your family without any words at all.”   


 

Cass makes a fist, and Bruce replies, “Yes, but almost any team you joined would include people who are also trained to fight.”   


 

“Hey, it’s cool. Maybe you’ll jump straight to one of the adult teams, yeah? Guess that makes sense when the junior teams all have one of your brothers on them.”   


 

“Alone?” Cass asks.   


 

“Independent,” Tony tells her. “It means alone in the sense of not being controlled and doing what you want, rather than the lonely kind of alone.”   


 

“But it can be that as well if you are not careful,” Bruce adds, and Tony reaches over the squeeze his leg.   


 

“You know the Avengers are never going to let you go, even if you keep refusing to join full time,” he reminds his friend. Bruce needs things like that spelled out to him loudly and repeatedly. “And Steve Strange and his band of merry misfits would be dead in a ditch three times over by now if not for you.”   


 

“A true warrior should not need anyone else to save him,” Damian says with conviction. Bruce sighs like this is an old argument.   


 

“A true warrior is gonna get his ass kicked if he goes around not letting anyone watch his back,” Tony tells him. “Working together is the only reason superheroes didn’t all die out before we’d even got started. The bad guys outnumbered us 10 to 1 back then. You think Cap and his pals would have survived fighting Hydra by themselves if they hadn’t worked together?”   


 

“A surgical strike to the head of the organization…”   


 

“Only works if you can get close enough, and if you know there’s no one waiting in the wings for the chance to take over.”   


 

“Tt.” Damian scowled at Tony, and took a slice of cake, cramming the whole thing into his mouth, presumably out of a desire to escape having the form a response.   


 

“Well if you’re not making friends, and your dad quite rightly isn’t letting out on the street, what do you do with your time?”   


 

“I practice the skills my parents and grandfather have taught me, and I read improving works from the library. It’s quite extensive.”   


 

Tony turns to glare at Bruce, who at least has the decency to look shamefaced. “You need a hobby, kid. And friends. And to spend time somewhere that isn’t cursed once in awhile.”   


 

“The manor is not cursed,” Bruce mutters rebelliously. “Only haunted.”   


 

“It’s cursed and you know it, Brucie-boy, so don’t even try. Are you at least sending the kid to school soon?”   


 

“I do not need to go to school,” Damian says firmly. “If there is anything I need to know which father cannot teach me, then suitable tutors can be found.”   


 

“And saying shit like that is exactly why we all think you need to go to school. Bruce, find him somewhere, please? For the sake of the future generations of heroes who’re going to have to deal with him?”   


 

“That is a little unkind, Tony,” Bruce says, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief. Tony feels a rush of affection for his strange reserved brother who always needs someone else to show him how to have fun. “But I have heard good things lately about Gotham Academy.”   


 

“They have employed Man-Bat! The headmaster is certainly not human!” Damian sounds horrified.   


 

“And their range of extracurricular activities is excellent, as are their exam results.”   


 

“On the other hand, are spoiled rich kids really who Damian needs more of in his life?” Tony asks. He should know, he’s been one of those spoiled rich kids, he knows how fucking toxic schools like that could be. He dreads to think what kind of monster he’d have turned out without Bruce to remind him to be nice, and Harvey Dent to yell at him when he forgot his privilege. “What about Tim’s school?”   


 

“I refuse to go to the same school as Drake,” Damian said loudly. “That place is beneath my dignity.”   


 

“You may have a point about the Academy,” Bruce said to Tony. “Lemon cake?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After tea, Tony uses a combination of wheedling, threats, and straight up begging to get Bruce to come on a run around the grounds with him.   


 

Tony’s never sure how he feels about being the healthy one in his friendship with Bruce. It’s certainly a novel experience, even after all these years. When they were children it was always Bruce dragging Tony outside, to go running, or to look at some interesting new plant he’d found, or just to sit on the roof of the school and talk, knowing they wouldn’t be overheard. Looking back, Tony can’t pinpoint the moment Bruce started to get paler, started sleeping later when he slept at all, started losing what little interest he’d ever had in food except as fuel for his obsessive working out. Thinking about it, it was probably around the time Tony started applying to colleges even though he wasn’t supposed to graduate for another two years.   


 

God, if he hadn’t gone, if he’d just waited and not left Bruce alone in that place with only Harvey for company. Harvey who was always more interested in academic success than friends, who thought he had to keep Bruce at arm's length to avoid leading him on…   


 

There’d been a year when they were about 15 when they’d been the three musketeers, always fighting the world back to back, never alone, never needing to worry about watching their backs because someone was doing it for them. Then everything started to fall apart, and Tony had been so much part of the problem, so obsessed with impressing his dad it blinded him to everything else, that he hadn’t even noticed.   


 

There’s a part of him which always feels like these trips to visit Bruce, all the unsubtle reminders about sunlight and smiling and human contact, are a penance he has to pay. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy spending him with Bruce, he does, but there’s a part of him that will always feel guilty for what happened.   


 

So he leads Bruce out into the fading spring sunlight, their running shoes keeping perfect time on the gravel path.   


 

“How’s the new girl?” Tony asks. He hasn’t met Steph yet, but he’s seen her and Tim together the last time he was in Gotham. They’d held hands so tightly, like they both thought they needed to stop the other from being stolen away.   


 

“Good. Strong. Dedicated. I like her. And I am worried about her relationship with Tim. The violence…”   


 

Tony stiffens. “She hits him?” No need to ask if Tim hits her, he knows the kid would never do that to someone he cared about.   


 

“Not… not hard. Not out of anger, exactly. It is… when he is being particularly stubborn or refusing help he desperately needs. She does not injure him. It’s only… I worry that they wouldn’t stop it in time if it escalated.   


 

“Stephanie has not had many guides on how to offer gentle touch, especially in non-sexual contexts. And for Tim, the most comprehensible affectionate touches are still spars.”   
“Only you could raise a kid who thinks you show love by punching him in the face.”   


 

“I did not… I did not recognize the damage in him until it was too late. I presumed his somewhat extreme reactions to Dick’s hugs were because of his hero worship. It did not occur to me until the first time I went to hug him and he shook in my arms like a scared animal that perhaps he simply did not know how to react to such things.   


 

“I investigated his parents more deeply after that, found all the things I missed the first time, but never anything I could use to rescue Tim.”   


 

“And now he’s got a girlfriend who thinks you correct people’s bad behavior using violence.”   


 

“I would never do anything to split them up. I am thrilled that he has found someone, and that someone is as brilliant and strong and dedicated as he deserves. But I do not know how to show them that what they have could be better, healthier, without it being seen as interference. I am not exactly an expert at relationships that don’t involve violence.”   


 

“Not the same thing. Catwoman only fights you because she knows you like it.”   


 

“I wasn’t thinking of her, actually.” Bruce’s eyes slide away, his expression tight with suppressed emotion. Tony lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.   


 

“You never laid a hand on Harvey until he started killing people, and by then whatever was between the two of you had been over for a long time.”   


 

“Does that matter, if I still love him?” Bruce asks bleakly.   


 

Tony sighs and pulls him into a hug. “You need to learn to fall out of love,” he tells Bruce, the way he did a hundred times in the weeks after Harvey and Gilda’s engagement was announced. The way he has a hundred times since.

 

“Tony, if I knew how to move on, I wouldn’t be out at night punching people while dressed as a bat!”   


 

Tony has to stop running to laugh, and Bruce gives him the small pleased look he always wears when he manages to make someone he loves smile.   


 

“Okay, point. You want me to try talking to him? I don’t think I’ll be much better than you, but I’m willing to try. Or Dick? Tim will always listen to him.”   


 

“It is Stephanie I think needs talking to. But perhaps Dick would be the best option for her as well. I hadn’t thought of that.”   


 

Of course he hadn’t because Bruce is allergic to asking for help. “We’ll ask him when he arrives tomorrow.”   


 

“Good idea,” Bruce agrees, and smiles at him, the first real smile of the visit, reaching all the way to his eyes.   


 

“You’re a good dad, Brucie. I’ve no idea how, but you’re a good dad.”   


 

“I have made many unforgivable mistakes,” Bruce says. “But they always come home to me in the end, and I suppose that is what really matters. I can only presume that’s due to Alfred’s cooking.”   


 

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Tony agrees with a smile of his own. “Nothing to do with the fact that those kids know you’d die for them in a heartbeat.”   


 

“I’d die for you too,” Bruce says like he thinks this is some kind of weird competition.   


 

“You’d better not,” Tony tells him, trying to hide the confused mix of heartbreak and affection he’s feeling. “You’ve got kids, remember?”   


 

“I’m still not sure how it happened.”   


 

“Me either. Some things are inexplicable. Let’s get back to the cave, and I’ll show you the new toys I brought you.”   


 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the cave, bickering good naturedly over possible improvements to be made to the Bat Computer (this is why you don’t let your twelve year old son name all your cool tech) and the relative merits of the Stark and Wayne R&D departments until Alfred calls them for dinner.   


 

They’re joined by the newest member of what the papers insist on calling Bruce’s “Rainbow Family” despite Bruce’s best attempts to get them to stop.   


 

Stephanie Brown has skin the color of milk chocolate and a white blonde afro about twice the size of her head. She’s she’s talking loud and fast when Bruce and Tony reach the dining room, hands gesticulating wildly as she explains something to Cass.   


 

Tony’s first impression of her is of a woman unafraid to take up space and make people notice her. It's something he always finds appealing, and he can see why she'd be attractive to someone like Tim, who compulsively hides from everyone.   


 

“Stephanie,” Bruce rumbles happily. “I am glad to see you.”   


 

“Alfred said he was making duck. I've never had duck.”   


 

“Well, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. This is Tony, he's staying with us for the weekend.”   


 

“Like I wouldn't recognize Iron Man,” she scoffs. “I'm Steph. And I guess you already know I go by Spoiler when I'm in costume. Did you bring the suit?”   


 

“I never go anywhere without it, but Bruce doesn't like me operating I'm Gotham, so it's for emergencies only.”   


 

“So what are you going to do tonight then?”   


 

“The Batmobile steering is feeling a little off,” Bruce puts in. “I was hoping you'd take a look at it.”   


 

Tony grins. “You know I never say no to time with my baby.”    


 

He built the first Batmobile by hand over the course of one gloriously self-destructive breakup, and he's been adding to it ever since. It's the best kind of project car, because every time he gets it perfect, Bruce blows it up or drives it into the bay, and Tony gets to start over.   


 

“Just remember to label any new controls you add. I don't want a repeat of the smoke bomb incident.”   


 

Steph looks intrigues,  but she's prevented from asking more by the arrival of Alfred, carrying a tray of plates.   


 

“Duck,” he announces, “with a red wine jus and wilted spinach.” He smiles around at them all. “I thought I would take the opportunity to cook with wine while Master Tim is away since I remember how much you like this dish, Master Tony.”   


 

“I still have no idea how you manage to make spinach taste good,” Steph says, sounding faintly annoyed.   


 

“It's all in the seasonings, Miss Stephanie. Miss Cassandra, I have taken the liberty of preparing an alternative for you, should you not enjoy the flavors of the dish.”   


 

Cass smiles and inclines her head in acknowledgment of the gesture, and Alfred nods back.   


 

He places the plates on the table (they all know not to offer to help by now) and withdraws, presumably to eat his own dinner in the kitchen.  Bruce insists he has seen Alfred eat, but Tony still isn't convinced.   


 

While they eat, Bruce tells the story of the unexpected smoke bombs in the dry self-deprecating way he has, Tony interjecting when he feels Bruce is downplaying a good part or undermining the brilliance of Tony's invention.   


 

Then Damian asks, in an offended tone, about Avengers screw ups. Tony tells them about the time Hank mixed up Pym particles and liquid nitrogen because he's allergic to labelling anything, and the time a mindless one ate Cap’s shield. Bruce adds the time he, Moon knight and Psylocke all infiltrated the same facility and ended up completely botching one another's operations without realising it.   


 

Steph and Cass laugh at the stories, and even Damian mostly stops frowning.    


 

It feels good, like family. Like the Avengers on their very best days. Like the moments when he’s got all the bots working together instead of just fucking shit up. Like remembering that Dick doesn’t call him Uncle Tony just to fuck with him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After dinner, they head down to the cave. (only Bruce and Tim are allowed to help with the washing up, and then only on special occasions. )   


 

Tony retrieves the toolbox he keeps in the cave and begins the laborious process of stripping away enough of the Batmobile armor that he can get to the steering. He half  watches Bruce guide Steph and Cass through their warm ups as he works. There's a rhythm to it that speaks of familiarity,  and Tony smiles to himself at the wonderful bizarreness of Bruce the father, Bruce the teacher.   


 

He's expecting Damian to kick up a fuss about being left behind, but the boy takes a seat at the console without protest and opens a file. Killer Croc from the look of it.   
He looks almost comically tiny in the Bruce-sized chair, and there’s nothing about him which suggests he's as dangerous as Tony knows he is. It's equal parts weird and horrifying to remember that this child is a trained killer.   


 

Tony nearly brains himself when something touches his back when he's half inside the car trying to reach a problem wire, and he emerges red faced and annoyed to find Cass laughing at him with her eyes.   


 

“You off?”   


 

She nods and turns to smile at Steph who has come up behind her and draped her arms over Cass’s shoulders.   


 

“You going to bed anytime soon?”   


 

Tony laughs. “No chance. It's not even eleven yet. I won't crash till three, four am? No point being an early bird in this house.”   


“Guess I'll see you later then,” Steph says. “I mean, I'm staying here tonight, and Spooky’s got me on a half patrol because I fucked up my calf muscles kicking a dealer in the teeth, so I guess you'll be up when I get in.”   


 

“And you're listening to him?”   


 

She shrugs. “He knows what he's doing, at least about the ass-kicking stuff. I'm never gonna listen to him about my personal life, but I can admit he knows more about this shit than me.”   


 

That bodes well for her survival, but less well for Bruce's desire to intervene with her about her violence.   


 

“Well, I'll be here. Don't die, okay?”   


 

Steph laughs, and Cass nods solemnly, and they head out together, Cass riding pillion on Steph’s purple bike.   


 

Tony had picked out the first bike himself, a gift for Jason’s fourteenth birthday. Since then, terrifying teenagers on modified superbikes have become as much part of the Gotham landscape as the bat signal itself. He's already started designing one for Damian because it won't be much longer before Bruce gives in and starts letting his youngest go on patrol.   


 

Bruce leaves a few minutes later, pausing to wish Damian a good night's sleep and to clap Tony on the shoulder. (He knows to wait until he's sure Tony’s seen him before touching him). He's got a bike of his own, for days when the Batmobile is out of commission. Tony hums with pleasure at the smooth growl of the engine. When he's not driving them into the bay, Bruce takes good care of his vehicles. A youth spent as Tony Stark's best friend wouldn't have it any other way.   


 

He and Damian work in silence for several minutes before Damian asks, “Why do you insist I should join a team? There are plenty of heroes who operate solo.”   


 

“Well firstly, you're never going to be one of them, not really,” Tony says, without straightening up. “You're a Bat, or you're going to be. Being on a team that admits it's a team will help you when you're fighting alongside your family. It will improve your tactical and combat abilities by exposing you to more styles of fighting, and having to keep up with metas with challenge you to improve.   


 

“Plus,  if you're going to keep a team from dying or imploding, you'll have to learn to play nice with others, and you could seriously use some of that.”   


 

Damian makes a disgusted noise, and Tony sighs.   


 

“I'm not just doing you down, kid. I'm speaking from experience. Before I joined the Avengers I had two friends. Two. And I thought I'd lost Bruce because he'd just come back from his world tour and was making sure everyone knew the only friend he needed anymore was champagne. Rhodey was the only person who'd give me the time of day without me paying them. I told myself I didn't care, that I was better off alone, but you know what? I was fucking lonely.  I think you know how that feels, and you can't even fill that gap with booze and casual sex.   


 

“But now I'm an Avenger. I've got friends, family. If I die tomorrow, there will be people who mourn for me. I know you don't want to rely on anyone, but trust me, as someone who's been where you are, my way is better. And now it's time to change the subject, because I've used up about a month's worth of emotional honesty in one go, and I got nothing else for you.”   


 

“As if I want anything from you,” Damian says, dismissive in the way only preteens can be, and turns back to whatever he’s doing. Superhero homework from the look of it and Tony honestly doesn’t know if that would have been Bruce or Alfred’s suggestion. It seems a little cruel to Tony, but at least it’s keeping the kid occupied.   


 

The silence is less awkward than it could be, and Tony’s able to lose himself in his work until he's disturbed by the roar of an engine.   


 

He tightens a bolt and stands up to see Steph ease her bike into one of the designated spaces and kick out the stand. Damian has disappeared. Tony’s about 80% sure he wasn’t supposed to be watching the kid. 70% at least. He’s probably fine.   


 

“Who taught you to ride?” he asks Steph as she peels off her helmet and mask, her hair exploding outwards like a cloud burst.   


 

“Tim mostly,” she admits. “Dick a bit, last time he was down. He didn't feel Tim had shown me enough of the really showy stuff.”   


 

“That's because Tim loves and respects the vehicles I give him, and never ever, for example, drives them into the Finger.”   


 

“Dick did that?”   


 

“First bike I ever gave him. At least Bruce fished the car back out of the bay both times he drove it off the dock.”   


 

“Have you thought of making him an aquatic car? Like in James Bond?”   


 

“I can either make it do that or all the other things he needs it to do.  There's only so much weight one chassis can hold. So yes, I’ve thought about it. A lot. Can’t be done. How was patrol?”   


 

She shrugs.  “The usual. I got to whale on some dealers, that's always a good time. And Cass introduced me to some of the working girls she keeps an eye on. One of the older women, she was reminiscing about the second Robin. You know he used to collect human teeth?”   


 

Tony shudders. “Yeah, I did. He was always going to be violent as hell, even if Bruce hadn't trained him to kick ass.”   


 

“He was my hero. Still is. Don’t get me wrong, I love Tim, and Dick is cool, and none of this would be possible without Spooky, but Jason… I guess you don’t know what it’s like to turn on the news and see someone who looks like you, someone black, being a hero. Saving lives.”   


 

Tony thinks about how he’s seen kids react to the non-white members of the Avengers, to the heroines, the openly queer heroes… He thinks about how much he could have used a hero he could actually identify with when he was a kid. “I have some idea, I think.”   


 

“Seeing him was what first made me think maybe I could be a hero, even before started thinking about doing anything to my dad. I used to dream about getting enough evidence on my mom's dealer to put him away for good.”   


 

“Have you?”   


 

“Nah. I keep an eye out, but I haven't seen him around. He's probably already in jail, or dead. I'm not losing sleep over it.”   


 

“I didn't know my parents were killed. Not till I was an adult.  Knowing there was someone out there, walking around, who'd killed my mom… That would have fucked me up.”   


 

“Well mom’s getting clean, and my dad's in jail, so that helps. Shit’s better than it was.”   


 

“You still want to be Robin?”   


 

“I'm happy being Spoiler.” She snorts. “Tim would cream himself if I started wearing the Robin uniform.”   


 

That's as good an entry as he's going to get. “About you and Tim…”   


 

“You're not going to give me the shovel talk, are you? Cos I gotta tell you, no way are you gonna be more intimidating than Spooky.”   


 

“Yeah, people have been telling me that since I was 13. It's hard to look tough when you're 5’4” and not shaving yet and you're standing next to Bruce. Seriously though, he's worried. About the amount you hit Tim. He's not trying to split you up or anything,” he adds quickly, holding up his spanner placatingly. “He didn't even ask me to talk to you. But I thought maybe it'd come better from someone with less emotional stakes, you know?”   


 

“I don’t…! You make it sound like I beat him up or something! I would never…”   


 

“I know. Just the odd smack when he does something especially stupid, yes? Put him in his place, teach him a lesson, so he doesn’t do it again?”   


 

“You make it sound really fucked up! I’m not hurting him!”   


 

“It is really fucked up. Doesn’t matter why, hitting your partner is always fucked up unless it’s a spar or kink. And even then it’s fucked up if you do it ‘cos you’re angry.”   


 

“Tim doesn’t mind,” Steph mutters defensively. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, and she’s not meeting Tony’s eyes. He’s pretty sure that means he’s got through to her, but it still makes him feel like a dick.   


 

“You’re smart. You gotta have noticed by now that Tim is a terrible person to take morals guidance from. He loves you. That means you could do everything short of killing the rest of his family and he’d allow it. Plus he has fucked up ideas about violence as affection, thanks to this family sparring when they should be hugging.”   


 

“I… I’ll think about what you’re saying. I’m not saying you’re right or anything, but I’ll think about it.”   


 

“Good start. And if you still want to dole out some violence now and then, I’m pretty sure Tim would be ecstatic if you took a belt to him for, you know, not angry reasons.”   


 

“Oh my God, you can’t say shit like that, you’re old enough to be my dad!”   


 

“Well, that was hurtful. Fair point, but still hurtful. Personally, I consider it to be one of the duties of the older generation of heroes to remind you youngsters that that shit like super strength and zip-strips can be used for fun reasons, not just saving the world.”   


 

“Jeez, you really are as much of a horndog as they say, aren’t you?” she asks, and her tone is scathing, but the smile is back in her eyes, so Tony figures they’re cool. He breathes a sigh of relief. He’d have never forgiven himself if he fucked this up for Tim. The kid could seriously use a little more love in his life. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning I guess?”   


 

“There’s no such thing as morning in Gotham, that is a blatant lie.”   


 

“Heh. Night Tony.”   


 

“Night Steph. And for the record, I don’t think you’re a bad person, and I know you’d never deliberately hurt Tim. I know what it’s like to have no models of healthy relationships growing up. I’m just trying to stop you breaking your own heart.”   


 

“Yeah, I get that.” She’s silent for a moment, and then as the reaches the steps up to the house, mutters, “Thanks,” so quiet he almost misses it.   


 

He goes back to the car with a smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast

Breakfast in Wayne manor is special. Firstly, it generally takes place at about noon, at least on the weekends. (Week days, Tony’s literally witnessed Alfred standing by the front door holding a slice of toast on a silver tray for the son de jour to grab on his way out of the door.) Secondly, Alfred serves what he considers to be a ‘full’ breakfast whenever any guest is staying, even if there are only two people in the house. A full breakfast in Alfred’s book involves a lot more offal than Tony is comfortable with, but he’s used to it by now.

 

Today’s breakfast is made extra special by the fact that every member of the household is in attendance, though Damian looks like he’s there under sufferance, and Tony’s pretty sure Steph is still asleep.

 

Bruce looks no more sleep deprived than normal, which is impressive when Tony’s pretty sure this is at least two hours before Bruce would normally get up.

 

Tony’s had as much sleep as Bruce, since they went to bed at the same time, but he’s also had a lot more coffee.

 

The sideboard is groaning with silver dishes, all of them polished to a mirror shine, and Tony knows exactly what each one will hold. It’s been the same things, in the same order, since Tony was a teenager. Scrambled eggs, then English breakfast sausages, then bacon, then grilled tomatoes, devilled kidneys, mushrooms, kippers and finally black or white pudding. Always in that order. (Tony hadn’t known what either black or white pudding even was before the first time he stayed, and he’s never been able to bring himself to try them, though Bruce assures him they're delicious. The whole idea is just gross.) There are racks of toast sitting beside the tureens, with real butter and five or six different types of jellies and conserves, but those, Alfred has always been very clear, are for after the hot portion of the breakfast.

 

What Tony actually wants for breakfast is a smoothie and a cereal bar. But if he admitted that Alfred would probably have him taken out back and shot, so he dutifully loads up his plate with bacon eggs and mushrooms, and doesn't pull any faces when Damian chooses devilled kidneys.

 

Bruce has everything on his plate except kippers, and Tony knows he will go back for them once he’s finished the meat. Bruce has a singular lack of interest in most food, but maintaining that body takes an ungodly amount of protein. The only humans Tony’s met who could eat more are Cap and Jason Todd, who always ate like he was afraid the food was going to be taken away from him, even after years living in the Manor.

 

“Good patrol?” Tony asks as he takes his place opposite Cass. He hadn’t seen her last night, which means she either got in even later than Bruce, or she bypassed the Cave entirely on her way home. Or Tony was absorbed in what he was doing, and she chose not to disturb him, because she can move creepily quietly when she wants to. Even working with the Black Widow regularly hadn’t prepared him for that.

 

She shrugs at him, and says, “Many people. Very angry. Very scared.”

 

Tony glances at Bruce for an explanation, but it’s Steph who fills him in. “Arkham breakout, a couple of days ago. Joker, Ivy and Two-Face got away.”

 

“Harvey’s out? Again?”

 

“His psychotic break didn’t affect his intelligence or his resourcefulness,” Bruce says, sounding a little hurt. “He’s a difficult man to keep contained.”

 

Tony thinks of Clint, the neat methodical way he takes out his targets, the lack of drama with which he kills those he believes need to die. If they could only… But Bruce would know, and that would be the end of any cooperation between the Avengers and Batman and the end of Tony’s longest friendship. And he’s not sure he could make the request anyway. Harvey had been his friend once, even he was never as close to him as Bruce was.

 

Joker on the other hand… But Bruce wouldn’t thank him for that either, and Tony is uncomfortably aware that it would be more than Bruce’s distaste for killing fueling his anger. That’s something they’re long past due a conversation about, even if Tony would prefer that they never bring it up again. Someone’s got to have it, and he wouldn’t be much of an Uncle if he left the kids to handle it by themselves.

 

“You got any leads?”

 

“Ivy has gone to ground. We won’t find her until she draws attention to herself,” Bruce says glumly. “I’ve got some leads on where Harvey might be, but there was no time to pursue them.”

 

“Well don’t think you can use this as an excuse to get out of the Gala. Let the police do their jobs for one night.”

 

“I know,” Bruce says meekly, or as meekly as he ever gets. It’s the voice he uses when Alfred is scolding him. “Maintaining cover is important.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And Harvey never makes a move until the second week he’s out anyway.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes but accepts. That had been Batman logic, and there’s really no traction in arguing with it, even if you’re Tony Stark.

 

“Are you guys coming tonight?” he asks the kids.

 

“You gotta be kidding, right?” Steph demands. “I’ve got better things to do than spending the night listening to rich white dudes kiss each other’s asses. Not going to these things is the biggest perk of not actually being related to these losers.” She grins at Cass, who grins back.

 

“I will not be attending," Damian says. "I see no benefit to such events.”

 

“They raise a lot of money for good causes,” Bruce points out, though Tony knows he doesn’t like them any more than Steph or Damian do.

 

“What about you, Cass?”

 

A slow pleased smile spreads over Cass’s features. “Date,” she says, smugly.

 

“Seriously? That’s great! What’s his name? Her name? Their name?”

 

“Harper.”

 

That doesn’t actually help with knowing what pronouns are appropriate, so Tony just grins, knowing Cass will be able to see how pleased he is for her.

 

He hadn’t objected to Bruce adopting her, nothing like that. (You couldn’t be an Avenger without believing that children from violent backgrounds needed love and safety and the offer of redemption if they wanted or needed it just as much, if not more, than anyone else.) But he’d been wary. Bruce is a surprisingly competent parent at least some of the time, and he’s certainly a loving parent, but he’s also a deeply damaged man who’s never quite managed to leave behind the heartbroken child he used to be, and he’s screwed up with all his kids, sometimes pretty spectacularly. Making him sole guardian of someone who’d been abused as Cass had seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.  
And yet somehow, they are happy. Cass comes further out of her shell every time Tony sees her. Her smiles are wider, her laughs freer. Tony’s starting to think that a man who tried and mostly failed to turn himself into only a weapon is exactly the parent Cass needed. Bruce makes sense to Cass, in a way that he’s pretty sure most people don’t, but he’s undamaged enough that she doesn’t feel threatened by him.

 

It helps that Bruce was, for once, intelligent enough to ask for help. The Widow has been advising him since the first night Cass slept over at the manor after No-Man’s Land, suggesting reading, and therapies which won’t feel like therapies, and all the things she wishes she’d had when she first came in from the cold. She and Cass go to the ballet whenever Natasha is in New York, and it had been Natasha, rather than Bruce, who had taken Tony to see Cass’s first performance, as part of a student dance showcase at Gotham Opera House. He doesn’t get ballet usually, though he’s been to a few over the years, but he will admit to being moved by Cass’s performance. There was an eloquence to her movements, even if he didn’t have the necessary vocabulary to understand what she was saying. 

 

Afterwards, he’d presented her with a dozen vividly pink lilies, and the three of them had gone out for sushi. It’s one the few times Tony has socialized with Natasha without the rest of the Avengers, or Cass without the rest of her family, but it had been a wonderful evening.

 

“You didn’t fancy being Tim’s date?” he asks Steph.

 

“No thanks. I’ve seen Tim dealing with rich people, and it’s creepy as fuck.” A few years ago, Bruce would have scolded her for language like that, but three years living with Jason had pretty effectively cured him of his objections to foul language. Even Hawkeye can’t curse like Jason could, and habitually did.

 

“It’s Tim, he’s always creepy as fuck.”

 

“Not like this. He goes all…”

 

She makes a vague gesture, and Cass says, “White.”

 

Steph nods emphatically. “Yes! That’s it! He starts pretending he’s one of them, acting like he fits in! And he does all this weird stuff like pretending he’s not drinking because of his age, instead of because it’s haram, and he not saying anything when people are being racist unless it’s really blatant, and normally he’d be all over shit like that. It’s like he’s a different person.”

 

Bruce grins a Brucie smile. “Welcome to high society, honey.”

 

Steph reaches across the table and hits him with her fork, smearing the ketchup Alfred only allows on the table under sufferance all over Bruce’s sleeve. “Don’t start.”

 

“Tim’s a spook,” Tony tells her. “And a rich kid, even if he doesn’t act like it all the time like most of us. But you’re going to have to get used to it sometime.”

 

“I’m used to it, I just don’t like it. That Tim… he’s not my Tim.”

 

“All are yours,” Cass says, patting Steph’s arm comfortingly. “Always yours.”

 

Steph can’t hide her smile at that, and Tony resists making ‘awww cute’ faces at her by force of will alone. He likes this shirt and he doesn’t want it covered in ketchup.

 

“I know,” Steph admits. “Even if I do have to share him. I’m still not going to the stupid party. But… maybe the next one.”

 

“I will buy you any dress you want,” Bruce promises her, and this time the smile is real. You can tell because his mouth barely moves - with Bruce it’s all in the eyes.

 

“And jewelry?”

 

“As much as you like.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” she concedes. “But I will pour champagne over everyone I hear being racist or sexist.”

 

“Pauline de Winter is prone to loud and aggressively transphobic non-sequitur,” Bruce says. “And I haven’t been able to get her ostracized yet.”

 

“I will make her stop,” Cass says sweetly before Steph can describe what she’d do to the woman. If it would be anything. Tony assumes anyone who spends much time around Tim must be wildly liberal, at least in their beliefs about things like gender and sexuality, but he doesn’t actually know. “She will not come back.”

 

Tony had half expected Bruce to object to that, but Jason had had Views on transphobia, and Bruce wouldn’t be Bruce if he hadn’t incorporated them into his personal morality. “Don’t get caught,” is all he says.

 

The gala is looking more interesting by the minute.

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

After breakfast, the kids go their separate ways and Bruce and Tony head to the study. Tony waits until he’s sure they’re alone before breaching the subject he’s been dreading.

 

“So, Joker’s out again,” he says carefully.

 

Bringing up Bruce’s nemesis always feels like stepping into a minefield, but he can’t just leave the kids to deal with it. Bruce hates Joker with every fiber of his being, and Tony will never ever ask if Bruce has ever jerked off thinking about the clown, because while he might be 80% sure the answer would be no, he’s equally sure it would be more like a “no, but I wanted to”.

 

Tony will never be grateful for Jason’s death, he’ll mourn that beautiful brilliant boy every day until he dies, but he can at least be grateful that one good thing had come of the horror, and that was that it had halted Bruce’s seemingly inevitable downward spiral into the Joker’s arms.

 

It’s really fucked up that the death of his son is the thing keeping Bruce from fucking that inhuman monster, but Tony’s known since they were teenagers that Bruce’s sexuality is kinda screwed up.

 

They’d shared a double for two years in school, and Tony’s pretty sure Bruce never jerked off once in that time. He never even checked out anyone, (Tony would definitely have noticed), until the day they walked in on Harvey Dent fucking whaling on some mook twice his size who’d been bullying a tiny first year.

 

No reaction to any of the pretty girls (or pretty boys) who flirted with him, no reaction except mild discomfort to any of Tony’s porn, even the weird shit. But one glance at Harvey with a murderous expression and blood on his knuckles and Bruce was fucking gone. He never stopped mooning after Harvey after that, and it didn’t take Tony all that long to work out it was as much the violence as the heroism that attracted him. (Turns out boxing matches and the odd pay per view martial arts tournament worked better on Bruce than any amount of porn).

 

Tony has spent twenty years very carefully not asking any questions about Bruce’s parents’ relationship that he wouldn’t be able to take back. Just like he will never ask about the way Robin smiles when he makes someone bleed. The Bats do things differently, and that will have to be enough of an answer.

 

“This city has five abandoned toy factories, two deserted fun fairs and one factory which used to make novelty false teeth,” Bruce says in response. “And that's assuming he's not just in a normal abandoned building.”

 

“I brought a suit with me. I could have hit all of the targets last night, no problem. I can get around quicker than you, and I've got better scanners.”

 

“I don’t want anyone to connect Ironman and Batman with Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark.”

 

“You know people already know who I am, right? Besides, isn’t it time you stopped hiding? It works for me, being out, and my home is a damn site less secure than yours. Plus, the people I want to protect can’t protect themselves. Yours all can.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “They’d take them away,” he says, bleakly. “If anyone knew, CPS would have everything they need to take my children away from me. Cass and Damian would be taken into care. Tim’s father would make him… make him choose.”

 

Tony’s pretty sure he knew what Tim’s choice would be, but he understands Bruce not wanting to find out.

 

“Dick would be suspended, maybe arrested. Probably killed. Nightwing isn’t exactly popular with the BPD.”

 

“Okay, yeah, I get that.”

 

“I want to,” Bruce says, unexpectedly. “Sometimes I want to so much. I want everyone to know how… how strong, and brave and brilliant they all are. I want everyone to know that Dick never lets his fears win, that Cass can look at someone and see all the ways to kill them and chooses not to, that Tim can analyze a crime scene faster and more efficiently than me now… I want people to see Stephanie’s goodness and Damian’s resolve. It doesn’t seem right that I make them hide.”

 

“If it helps, I’d be hiding anyway,” Tim’s voice says behind them, and they both turn to look at him.

 

He’s standing on the top of the steps down to the cave, wearing the shadows the way only a Bat can, but his face is tipped back slightly to allow them to see his small smile. “You don’t force me to hide, Bruce, you give me a chance to show off.

 

“I can’t speak for the others of course, but I think Cass would tell you she never wanted the limelight, and Dick would say that Nightwing performs to a bigger audience than even he could ever have dreamed off. I’d rather be my whole self in the shadows that half of myself in the spotlight.”

 

“You always did find the shadows comfortable.”

 

“Shadows are safe,” Tim says, firmly. “Hello, Uncle Tony.”

 

“Hello, Timmy. Your robot tried to kill Dummy.”

 

“Shit. Uh, sorry? It’s supposed to self-repair using any non-essential tech, but it didn’t occur to me to also exclude sentient mechanical beings.”

 

“Dummy’s not exactly sentient.”

 

“Yes he is, don’t be stupid. Just because he’s not very good at being a person doesn’t mean he isn’t one.”

 

Tony looks around at the three of them. “Oh good, glad we’re not excluded from the human race.”

 

Bruce’s lips twitch, and Tim grins. “Why were we talking about Bruce’s excellent parenting earlier?”

 

“Tony was trying to find a polite way to ask whether I’m planning to have sex with the Joker,” Bruce says.

 

“Oh, thank god. I’d been afraid it was going to have to be me who asked.”

 

Bruce has very odd children.

 

“Well to set both of your fears to rest, no. I will never share any intimacy greater than that inherent in fighting him with that monster.”

 

“But you’re acknowledging that you’d thought about it. That you’ve wanted it.”

 

“Joker knows how to press buttons… buttons I have been trying and failing to remove from my psyche since I was a teenager.”

 

“Harvey Dent with blood on his teeth,” Tony says, and Bruce gives him a small self-deprecating smile.

 

“Fucking hell Bruce, are there any villains in this city you don’t want to bone?” Tim, being Tim, sounds a little impressed.

 

“I have never once been attracted to the Penguin,” Bruce says firmly. “Or Grundy.”

 

“I should hope not, Grundy’s been dead three hundred years!”

 

“So’s Dracula,” Tony can’t resist pointing out.

 

“That sounds like a story I need to hear,” Tim says, coming into the room and leaning against the desk. It’s a calculated move, like everything Tim does, a clear statement that he wants to be seen and included.

 

“You don’t want to hear it,” Tony says firmly. “Trust me. The Defenders don’t want to know it and they were there. I wish no one had told me. It’s equal parts gross and embarrassing.”

 

“To be fair, I don’t believe Dracula meant it as a seduction,” Bruce says, his lip twitching in the way that means he’s biting back real laughter. “It just looked that way from the outside.”

 

“And from the inside of your head.”

 

“Well yes, but anyone who starts taking the contents of my brain as a guide to anything is in deep trouble.”

 

“That’s almost certainly where I went wrong,” Tim agrees. “But now that we’ve established that Bruce isn’t going to fuck the Joker, and since neither of you seems inclined to tell me the rest of the Dracula story, I’m going to go pray Zuhr. See you downstairs in half an hour?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

After Tim's finished his noon prayers, he and Tony take the corpse of his horrible little cannibal bot down to the caves for an autopsy and impromptu AI coding lesson.

 

Tim hasn't got the intuitive brilliance for engineering that he does for detection or surveillance, and he doesn't have the time or energy to study it with the focus he gives to martial arts (however many useful gadgets he learns to make, it will always ultimately be hobby rather than something his life depends on) but he's still at least as good as half the kids in the SI gifted and talented programme.

 

His coding is better than most of them actually, thanks more to Oracle’s input than Tony's, and Tony's genuinely impressed when they get Bat Bot wired up to a laptop and he gets a real look at the horrible little thing’s core programming.

 

“You wrote this yourself?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“It's good. I'm impressed you managed to get something this small this intelligent.”

 

Tim shrugs. “I've been looking over some of the articles you recommended last time I saw you.”

 

“Yeah? How'd you get on with Hank? “

 

“Eugh.”

 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, I know. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to exclude everyone who isn’t already an expert. Interesting stuff though, right?”

 

“Oh yeah. Really useful, just mostly unreadable. I swear Riddler on a bad day is easier to understand. I had to read the whole thing with a technical dictionary next to me, and I know I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m hardly a beginner!”

 

“Pym thinks everyone who hasn't got a Masters on the subject is a beginner.”

 

“I mean, he did create chunks of the field from scratch, do I guess a little hubris is to be expected, but give me Doom any day. At least he always includes a glossary.”

 

“Christ, no wonder your bots are evil if you're using Doom as your guide.”

 

“He made huge strides in evolving AIs. The personalities are so complete no one can tell they're not human without an x-ray or magnetism powers!”

 

“I've seen the footage of those tests,” Tony admits. “It's... interesting.”

 

“You doubt it?”

 

“I doubt whether it would work with a less cartoonishly egomaniacal man.”

 

“You think the issue the testers had was that Doom is too robotic, rather than the bots being too human?”

 

“Basically. I don't think you could replicate the results with yourself, for instance.”

 

“But truly sapient androids are perfectly possible.”

 

“Oh yeah, obviously. But they’re not indistinguishable from humans. You don’t have to see the Vision, for example, to know that he’s not human, any more than you need to x-ray Noh-Vah to see that he's an alien. I just think being indistinguishable from humans is a crappy measure of intelligence.”

 

“That's fair. But how am I gonna get BB to recognize sentient beings? Getting it to ignore pacemakers and prosthetics was fairly easy - it just looks for heartbeats. That doesn't cover every species we know about, but native species and the most common kinds of aliens should be okay.”

 

“Complexity of the circuitry?” Tony suggests. “Honestly though, I'm not sure why you want it to be self-repairing in the first place. Just put a tracker in it and go pick it up for repairs if it gets damaged.”

 

“This is Gotham, and I want to use it for reconnaissance.”

 

“Okay, fair. I'll have a think about the coding. Speaking of non-human intelligence, how are Wiccan and Hulkling?”

 

To Tony's delight, Tim actually blushes. “Billy’s human,” he protests.

 

“He was willed into existence from nothing by chaos magic. The fact that the parents he actually shares DNA with are human is kinda overshadowed.”

 

“Yeah, okay. They're good. We're good.”

 

“The inter-team dating is working out okay?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“See, that doesn't reassure me because that sounds like you don't know how bad this can go. The X-Men have been pretty chill, relationship wise, for most of you lifetime. You don't remember them back before someone bought them a copy of ‘the Ethical Slut’. It was a fucking mess. Badly handled inter team breakups did as much harm as supervillains.”

 

“And they figured how to make it work. I'm not an idiot. I know this could ruin the team if it goes wrong. I know this could end my relationship with Steph if I'm not careful, and that… it wouldn't kill me, or slow me down, but it would hurt more than anything else ever has, physical or emotional. But I've got faith in us. I trust Billy and Teddy to tell me if they're not happy, I trust Steph to be honest when I ask if she's okay. So why wouldn't I be confident?”

 

“Alright, fair enough. Hey, did Steph know about you other relationship when you got together? She doesn't strike me as the poly type.”

 

“I had to make every move, and then dodge a half brick aimed at my head when she finally noticed I was hitting on her,” Tim says, oblivious to Tony's concern. “She doesn't like cheaters. Once I persuaded her that they knew all about her and had given me their blessing, things got a little easier. She still insisted on asking them herself before we went on a date.”

 

“Well that sounds awkward.”

 

“It was okay actually. They're not best friends or anything, but Steph thinks Teddy’s hot, and even knowing that almost everyone who's into masc dudes thinks Teddy’s hot, that still blew my mind a little bit.”

 

Tony laughs. “Sometimes I forget you’re fifteen, and then you say something like that and it all comes flooding back.”

 

“Oh, like you’ve never fantasized about Pepper being really into Cap?”

 

“I am not attracted to Steve.”

 

“Uncle Tony, you are one of the smartest men I know, but you do a fucking awful impression of a straight man.”

 

“I am straight! 90%. Maybe 80. Majority though. I am majority straight, and I get to self-identify however I like.”

 

“Of course. You also get to hit on Cap increasingly unsubtly every time I see you together.”

 

“Yeah well, subtle doesn’t work.”

 

“Does utterly shameless?”

 

“Not so far. I’ll keep you posted.”

 

“You’re as bad as Dick.”

 

“I’m fully aware that you meant that as an insult, but since I know Dick is one of your favorite people in the world, I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.”

 

“ _You’re_ one of my favorite people, Tony. You taught me to code basic AIs when I was 13, and you always answer my questions, and you make Bruce smile. Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

 

Tim is totally unlike any of his siblings, but there are moments when the mood strikes him just right when Tony can’t help thinking how much Jason would have loved him. They come from very different places, but they’re a lot alike when you get down to the heart of them.

 

“I'm wounded,” Tony tells him, grinning. “Deeply wounded. Heartbroken in fact. I may never recover.”

 

“I'm sure I'll learn to live with the guilt in time,” Tim tells him seriously, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now show me how to stop BB from trying to eat Vision.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They're interrupted some unknown amount of time later by the rest of the family, dressed in workout gear of various kinds, invading the cave for training.

 

Tony and Tim try to hold out, but Tim quickly succumbs to Steph’s gentle teasing and abandons his coding in favor of changing to workout wear of his own, and joining her on the mats.

 

Tony makes a few quick notes so that Tim will hopefully be able to continue without assistance whenever he next gets free time, and ducks into the shower room to change. Tim may be utterly unselfconscious about stripping to his boxers in full view of everyone, but Tony would rather not be the middle aged man who takes his clothes off in front of teenagers, thanks all the same (especially as he only met Steph this weekend, and she doesn't (yet) consider him family).

 

He changes into the shorts and SI tee he'd brought with him for just such an occasion. No sneakers though - Bruce doesn’t like people wearing shoes on the mats unless they’re training in costume.

 

He warms up alongside Tim, watching Damian and Steph square up against one another. Tony doesn’t have the eye for a fighter that people like Bruce or Danny Rand do, but even he can see that there’s no way Steph can win short of divine intervention.

 

“She hates losing to a kid,” Tim says cheerfully, “but it’s great for her form.”

 

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Steph yells, ducking under Damian’s kick seemingly by chance. “Stop showing off how bendy you are and come help me beat up your brother.”

 

“She’s going to be incredible when Bruce is done training her,” Tim says dreamily and goes to tap into the spar.

 

Bruce and Cass are up on the balance beam, doing their level best to kick one another’s teeth in, and looking completely unbothered by the narrow surface. Tony is deeply jealous of Bruce’s skills, but he gave up on any idea that he might one day be a half decent martial artist long ago. He knows enough to protect himself from low-level threats until he can get to a suit, and that’s as good as he’s going to get. He’s resigned to the fact that there simply isn’t enough time for him to put any serious training into combat and also build the tech that he and his team need. Besides which, to be any good he would have needed to start training before a few dozen rounds with Hulk tier threats did their damage to his joints. He’s still plenty able to fly the suit, but there’s going to be hip replacements in his future, and any chances he once had of learning to kick higher than his own head are long gone.

 

Still, he enjoys sparring for its own sake, even knowing that he hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of winning.

 

“Who’s gonna volunteer to kick my ass today?” he asks.

 

“That would be me,” Dick says, from the stairs. “Just let me get changed.” He’s wearing his uniform (the police one, not the superhero one), but he’s left the stab vest and gun somewhere else, probably out of respect for Bruce’s sensibilities.

 

He waves in response to the greetings from his family and jogs over to the lockers. Like his brother, he feels no shame whatsoever in stripping down in the middle of the cave. Tony can’t decide if it’s creepy or not to watch, but he does it anyway. At least he knows he’s not alone - he glances over to the far mat to see Tim and Steph doing the same.

 

When Dick’s dressed in a worn BPD shirt and shorts just barely long enough to avoid reminding Tony of that one really creepy Gym teacher he and Bruce had had, he joins Tony on the mats.

 

The Damian/Steph/Tim spar has started up again, though it gets derailed every time one of the boys uses a move Steph wants to learn. Damian is being impressively patient, considering.

 

“You been keeping up your training?” Dick asks as he flows through a series of stretches that make Tony’s back ache just to look at.

 

“I let Hawkeye or Cap beat me up regularly. They say it’s training, but it mostly just feels like getting punched.”

 

Dick laughs. “I’ll tell Steve to go easy on you.”

 

“Not Clint?”

 

“Hawkeyes do what they want, you know that. The only ones who can tell Clint what to do are Kate and Natasha.”

 

“He does have a healthy respect for terrifying women,” Tony comments. It’s one of Clint’s better qualities.

 

“He was married to Bobbi. If he didn’t respect strong women before he moved in with her, he sure as hell did by the time he moved out again.”

 

“I dunno, I think Natasha had already done most of the work before he ever met Bobbi.”

 

Dick laughs. “Getting put in your place by beautiful women who can kick your ass is an important learning experience for any superhero. I’m glad to see Tim is embracing the tradition.”

 

“She’s trying to kick my ass,” Tim calls, smugly, “but it’s not working.”

 

“Yet. Also, she has twice brained you with half a brick. That totally counts.”

 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, with a happy smile. Someone should probably have a talk with him about all the fun bedroom appropriate violence him and Steph could be engaging in, but it’s not gonna be Tony. He’s done enough amateur counseling this weekend. Maybe he’ll just send him some useful links. Tim’s bright enough to figure it out from there.

 

“You with me, Uncle Tony?” Dick asks, standing up and pulling his arms up over his head, making his shirt ride up to reveal muscles that Tony would have killed for when he was Dick’s age and scars that probably would have killed him.

 

“Just thinking about how I don’t want to be the one to give Tim the ‘BDSM is a fun and healthy pastime for all consenting adults’ talk, but the rest of you seem to be really dropping the ball on that one,” Tony says softly, not wanting Tim and Steph to hear him.

 

“I gave him about 50% of that talk by accident during No Man’s Land,” Dick volunteers, keeping his voice low. “I couldn’t see a way to give him the rest without asking way more questions about his sex life than I was comfortable with.”

 

“I’m thinking I’m just gonna send him some reputable links, maybe a voucher, and hope he figures it out without help.”

 

Dick laughs softly. “He’s bright, I’m sure he’ll get it. Not sure if Steph will go for it, mind.”

 

“I may have suggested it to her briefly last night. She didn’t seem completely horrified by the idea. Although it was hard to tell since she was mostly busy being revolted that someone my age could possibly be interested in sex.”

 

“I mean, you are pretty old, Uncle Tony,” Dick says, grinning. “You’re old enough to be my Dad.”

 

Tony sticks his tongue out at him because he is a mature person who reacts in a mature adult way.

 

Dick laughs and pulls himself into a ready position obvious enough that even Tony can spot it. Tony mirrors him, and they exchange gentle punches and blocks for a few minutes, Tony reminding his body that this is Dick, and it’s okay for him to try and punch Tony in the face, no panic response needed, while Dick tests out how much Tony has forgotten since he last saw him.

 

“Alright,” Dick says in approval, and launches into a flurry of kicks and punches at what Tony knows is about half speed for Dick, but which Tony still struggles to keep up with. He ducks a punch, dodges a kick aimed at his chest, and manages to block a strike that makes his arms ache with the impact.

 

He throws a punch of his own, and Dick blocks it easily but he also nods in approval, so Tony figures his form must at least have been decent.

 

“You've learned something from Clint beating you up,” Dick comments. “I didn't teach you that punch, and nor did Bruce.”

 

“Oh good. Then the bruises were all worth it,” Tony says dryly.

 

“There's a reason Natasha asked him to train you, even knowing he's not a good teacher. He's not the best hand to hand fighter, but he knows more than you, and he's close enough to you in build that the things you learn have a chance of being useful, plus you carry your strength in the same places.”

 

“Yeah yeah, I get it. It's important I keep letting Clint punch me.”

 

“You should also punch him back if you can,” Dick says brightly. “That's important too.”

 

He steps in close, his movements so slow and deliberate that Tony knows he's supposed to notice. This he at least knows - Bruce has been teaching him Jujitsu since he first told Tony the secret.

 

It's hard to get the proper grip on someone not wearing a gi, but Tony makes a pretty decent showing, pivoting and flipping Dick over his hip and following him down onto the mat, using his weight to pin Dick’s shoulders.

 

“Not bad,” Dick says, “but you should never have left my legs free,” and he sends Tony sprawling with a (relatively) gentle kick to the back.

 

“You realize most people I fight aren't going to be acrobatic freaks of nature with rubber bones, right?” Tony asks, rolling into a sitting position and rubbing his shoulder.

 

“But you won't know for sure until they kick you in the back of the head, so why take the risk?”

 

“How the fuck did Spidey ever get you to stay still long enough to get you webbed up?!”

 

“He can be persuasive when he wants to be,” Dick says with a laugh and a wink. “Plus he’s fast. Faster than most people realize.”

 

“Well I guess it’s a good thing healing factors mean quick reload times then, huh,” Tony says and is rewarded with a scandalized laugh from Dick.

 

“Oh my god, Uncle Tony, I can’t believe you said that! He’s younger than me!”

 

“I promise you, I have never had a sexual thought about Spider-man.” Technically true - passing thoughts about the tightness of uniform and the toned-ness of muscle don’t count, since Tony has those about basically every Superhero and a fair few of the villains as well. He’s constantly surrounded by extremely beautiful people. It’s a hard life.

 

“See, but that just makes me wonder which of the other super-healers you have been thinking about,” Tim says, as his spar brings him close enough to listen in on their conversation. “Since you’re insistent you don’t have feelings for Cap, and Wolverine drives you up the wall, I’m going to guess Deadpool.”

 

Tony makes a noise of pure revulsion, and attempts (fails) to punch Dick, who is easier to reach than Tim.

 

“I can see that,” Dick says, casually leaning out of the way of Tony's fist. “I mean, Wade’s a real nice guy when you get past the lack of brain to mouth filter and the murder. Always willing to help out the Titans when they needed a little extra muscle, and he always did his best to play by Avengers rules for our sakes.”

 

“That’s because he was hoping one of you would fuck him,” Tony points out. He’d never got the full details of any of Deadpool’s relationships, but neither Cable or his wife seemed to have any issues with him hitting on everyone he met, and that included the Titans.

 

“And his ass is pretty great,” Tim puts in, ducking a punch from Steph.

 

“Why have you been looking at his ass?!”

 

“I look at everyone’s ass,” Tim says, casually. “But especially people Cable is in love with.”

 

This time it’s Dick who sounds disgusted. “You have got to get over your Cable thing. The guy’s an asshole. He punched you in the face with his metal arm when you were thirteen!”

 

“He had his reasons.”

 

“He’s not even that hot!”

 

“But he is extremely interesting, intelligent, and usually willing to answer my questions about time travel, which is more than can be said for Reed Richards. And I’m not allowed to ask Doctor Doom because he’s evil.”

 

Tony laughs. “Never change, you weird little psycho. But don’t hit on Cable. He’s a dangerous nutjob, and everyone he loves dies.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tim said. “He doesn’t go for the under thirties anyway.”

 

“You’re such a freak,” Damian says, and he sounds a lot less affectionate than Tony or Steph had, but Tim just laughs.

 

“Just you wait till you hit puberty, littlest brother,” Dick says to Damian, pulling Tony into a sudden and unexpected headlock. “You were raised by Bruce and Talia, you’re basically guaranteed some out there fetishes.”

 

“Can we not talk about the twelve-year old’s kinks?” Steph demands as Tony tries to find a way to break Dick’s hold. “Dinner’s going to be in like, ten minutes, and I’d rather not barf it all up again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They eat mutton biriyani at the dining room table in their workout gear, and for the first time in Tony’s experience, Tim has seconds.

 

The recipe, Alfred explains to him when he comments on it, is Tim’s grandmother’s. Alfred had written to her to ask for some of her recipes, in an attempt to make Tim feel more at home at the manor when his parents were kidnapped. That comes with the sudden realization that Tim does have parents other than Bruce, parents who are not as rich as they once were, but who will still have been at least invited to the gala.

 

“How come you’re not going with your dad?” Tony asks him, as they all troop upstairs to change.

 

“He’s not going. My step-mom won tickets for a cruise from a magazine competition, and it’s been a long time since they had a holiday. It wasn’t that hard to persuade dad that I should go to the gala with Dick, to represent the family. Drake Industries hasn’t got all that much financial clout these days, but name recognition still counts for a lot.”

 

“And did your step-mom actually enter the competition?”

 

“She entered any number of them. She enjoys magazine competitions and wins small things often enough that a big win didn’t seem especially unbelievable. And of course, she’s been trying to get dad to go on vacation for ages now, so it came at the perfect moment.”

 

“Courtesy of our friend Oracle?”

 

Tim gives him a small smile that makes him look much much older than he is. It reminds Tony of the one Bucky used to get when some mission came up that required him to use the nastier bits of his training. God, it must kill Bruce that Tim has to live this network of lies and half-truths, however easily it might come to him. Tony’s not exactly an expert on mental health, but even he can see the toll the lies are taking on Tim.

 

Tony pulls him into a one armed hug. “I’m not saying anything specific about any trauma or issues you may not want to talk about, but I want you to know that I’m sorry stuff in your life is a bit shit,” he tells him, which is close as he can get to real reassurance given the realities of who he and Tim are as people.

 

Tim hugs him back. “Thanks, Tony. I’m okay though, really.”

 

“Sure kid. Keep working on it and that might even be convincing.”

 

“Don't worry,” Steph says, dropping back from where she’d been walking with Cass to take Tim’s hand. “We’ll look after him.”

 

“You and Teddy always talk about me like I’m a kid,” Tim complains, though he doesn’t sound upset.

 

“No, we just say you need a lot of looking after because you do. And we’re not going to stop, so you might as well stop fighting and just enjoy being fussed over.”

 

Tim smiles at her like she’s the most perfect thing in the world. “Yes, ma’am. So long as I get to fuss out you too.”

 

“Oh, I insist on it. See you later Tony!”

 

The two of them head into Tim’s room, and Tony makes his way to the guest room he’s been staying in since he was 13, where all the clothes he brought with him have been hung up and organized with Pennyworth precision, and does his best to make himself look reputable.

 

He doesn't care about clothes, but he is fully aware (thanks in part to an angry impromptu lecture from Natasha a few years ago) that that is a luxury afforded to him by his wealth. In exchange for thirty minutes every six months of being measured, and a small fortune in tailor’s and personal shopper’s fees, he can go through life in the comfortable knowledge that all his suits are the height of fashion, fit perfectly, and come with appropriately flashy designer names attached.

 

All he has to do is correctly judge the formality of the occasion and manage not to clash too horribly. (He likes bright colors, he didn't think that was such a crime, but his personal shopper has strict orders from Pepper to stick to a muted palette where ever possible to avoid Tony looking like a Christmas tree). For events like this one, that have an actual dress code, he doesn't have to do anything more involved than getting dressed.

 

As a result, he's one of the first ready, and has to sit around carefully not doing anything that might rumple his suit while he waits for people slowed down by things like having a choice of outfit, or caring about their appearances, or makeup.

 

Bruce joins him after only a couple of minutes, the delay likely caused only by how much longer it takes him to shave, since Alfred has complete control over his wardrobe for events like this.

 

Bruce wears a tux exactly like it's his birthright, the perfect all-American movie-star mix of effortless masculinity and calculated style. The cut of his suit is old fashioned, but rather than frumpy it makes him look like he's stepped straight out of the golden age of Hollywood. The effect is only slightly spoiled by the way he’s started styling his hair to flop forward in a way that suggests he's trying to hide a receding hairline he doesn't actually have. He makes Tony look like he's trying too hard, but Tony's used to that by now. (Tony is very glad he got over his adolescent insecurities about his masculinity because they had made being around Bruce pretty unbearable for a while).

 

They sit in the study with the ghost of Thomas Wayne (hopefully metaphorically, although this is Wayne manor so who knows) and practise making small talk, Bruce slipping between Bruce and Brucie as he psyches himself up for an evening spent in character, Tony aware of himself getting louder and brasher as he mentally prepares for the media circus.

 

Dick joins them about twenty minutes later, looking like a model for the kind of designer brand Tony's wardrobe is full off. He grins and gives them a twirl as he comes in. “What do you think? Good enough for Gotham's most eligible? “

 

The fund raising tonight includes an auction, and one of the most anticipated items on sale is a date with America's most handsome heir. Tony's supposed to be playing auctioneer, which he's not especially looking forward to, but it at least gives him an excuse not to buy anything. Last year he'd ended up with a matched set of six completely hideous art nouveau vases. They’re supposed to be valuable antiques, but they’re painted in shades of green and yellow reminiscent of vomit, and the artist had apparently never seen a flower before, so Tony doesn’t feel bad about the fact that they’d immediately gone into storage until such time as it’s no longer rude to offer them up to another auction.

 

“You’re going to sell for a fortune,” Tony tells him, “and break some poor woman’s heart when you completely fail to fall in love with her on your romantic date.”

 

“As long as Mrs Parcifal doesn’t win me again, I don’t care. You’d think someone raised in the 40s would have some manners, they’re always talking about how young people don’t have any, but that woman’s got wandering hands and kept describing me as ‘arrestingly exotic’.”

 

Tony winces. “I’ll do what I can,” he promises, “but you look a million dollars, and she’s got a million dollars, so I make no promises.”

 

“I made the Munroe twins promise they’d bid on you, when I saw them at the Opera last month,” Bruce puts in. “I know you get along, and they’re nearly as rich as Mrs Parcifal and twice as ruthless.”

 

“Hey, thanks. The twins are pretty nice, and at least you can have a proper conversation with them, even if it is always about whatever it is they’re getting their degrees in. History and Science?”

 

“14th Century British literature and biochemical engineering,” Bruce says because of course he knows.

 

Tony perks up a bit. “Seriously? Which one of them is the Chemist?”

 

Bruce blinks at him. “No idea. Can’t tell them apart. I’ve been trying for years.”

 

“Harmony is the Bio-Chemist, Charity is the Chaucer scholar. Harmony is ¾ of an inch taller, and Charity has a slightly crooked tooth,” Tim says from the doorway. "Upper left cuspid."

 

He’s come down with Steph and Cass, Steph still in her workout gear from earlier, although her hair is loose now. When she sees Tony looking she gestures proudly to Tim and Cass, as though taking credit for everything good about their appearances, right down to the things good genes have granted them.

 

Cass is wearing a black velvet dress, with lace sleeves. It’s short and tight enough that she can’t be concealing any weapons (unlike her menfolk, who are all almost certainly armed to the teeth) but she’s primarily a hand to hand fighter anyway. Her shoes are black ballet flats, with an ankle strap, and her hair is held back off her face by an Alice band. She looks very pretty, and Tony is sure that everything she’s wearing was chosen because of her ability to fight in it.

 

Tim’s wearing a suit that can’t make up its mind whether it’s a tux or a lounge suit, dark gray with satin lapels cut as narrow as everything else about it. He looks stylish, but also a lot weedier than he actually is. No one looking at him in this outfit would guess that his slim form is 90% muscle.

 

“Should I be concerned, boyfriend of mine?” Steph asks, with a laugh in her voice. “That’s a lot of attention to be paying to pretty blondes.”

 

“Neither of them have ever kick anyone’s teeth in. They’ve probably never even thrown a punch,” Tim says, as though that answers the question, and Steph grins like it does, so what does Tony know. Is Tim only attracted to Superheroes? Is there even a word for that?

 

“You not auctioning off Tim tonight?” he asks her. “There’s some aging windows who’d pay good money for an evening with a good looking teenager.”

 

“Wandering hands,” Dick mutters.

 

“Only if I get to keep the profits,” Steph says. “Although I guess I should probably split them three ways with Bill and Ted, since we have joint custody.”

 

“I still object to me talking about me like I'm a child you have to look after,” Tim protests, continuing the argument from earlier.

 

“You burnt your eyebrows off last month experimenting with tiny explosives you could hide under your creepy false fingernail, which you installed yourself because you have no concept of personal safety,” she reminds him, and Cass snorts.

 

“Idiot brother,” she tells him, and then points at Bruce and says, “Watch him, idiot father.”

 

“He does,” Tim points out. “He watches me build explosives and perform minor surgeries on myself.”

 

“Idiots,” Cass declares, throwing up her hands in despair.

 

“Yup,” Steph agrees. “Idiots.”

 

“Now Miss Cassandra, that is not a nice way to talk to your family, even if they deserve it,” Alfred says, appearing soundlessly just inside the door the way only fancy butlers with a history in covert ops can. “I believe your date has arrived.”

 

Cass smiles brightly, and they all follow Alfred into the entrance hall, where a young person in a black tux is holding a bunch of yellow roses and looking adorably nervous.

 

Harper brightens up a little when they see Cass and holds out the roses to her.

 

“Yellow roses are usually for funerals, but I know you like yellow more than red, and red roses seemed a little forward for a second date, and also your family is all here,” they say in a rush.

 

Cass takes the flowers with a shy smile, bringing them up to her face to smell the sweet scent, and reaching out to take Harper’s hand.

 

Actually meeting Cass’s date doesn't help with Tony’s pronoun question. Harper is clearly afab, but their suit is a masculine cut, and their mauve and turquoise undercut screams queer.

 

They're tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and more than a little swagger in their body-language, and they look at Cass like she hung the moon.

 

“Harper,” Cass says, smiling round at her assembled relatives. She turns to smile at her date and gestures towards Tony and the Waynes with her armful of roses. “Family.”

 

Harper snorts. “Thanks, Cass. Nice to meet you all, I'm Harper.”

 

“Tony Stark,” Tony says before anyone else can speak. He holds out a hand and Harper shakes it. Their grip is firm, but their hand is clammy. Tony doesn't blame them for being nervous - the assembled Bat family is a whole lot more intimidation than most kids have to deal with the first time they get taken to meet the parents, even allowing for Harper being queer as hell. “Mind if we get the awkwardness of pronoun checks out of the way now?”

 

“It's the suit, isn't it?” Harper asks with a smile. “I use she/her.”

 

“It was more the hair and the neutral name,” Tony admits, “but it is a very queer suit.”

 

“Nice,” Cass says with a sharp smile.

 

“Well at last check you can match pronoun to presentation for all of us,” Dick says impatiently, “So now that's out of the way, tell us everything about yourself. Spare no detail.”

 

“We’re supposed to be trying not to scare her, remember?” Tim says, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “I'm Tim. It's good to finally meet you. Steph and Cass talk about you a lot.”

 

“Back atcha.”

 

“This is Dick and Bruce, who are both dying to interrogate you, but they're not going to because they're on their best behavior,” Tim says, smiling blandly like he hadn't just threatened two of the most dangerous men in the world. “Shall we go?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Feel free to ask me any questions you have about the universe here or on tumblr.
> 
> Comments are love


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